<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>With Every Broken Bone by Lady_Vibeke</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672204">With Every Broken Bone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke'>Lady_Vibeke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cara Dune &amp; Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Feels, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Late Night Conversations, Post-Battle, Sleepy Cuddles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:40:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I kinda wanna kiss you.”<br/>Din has a hand curled around his helmet and one clutching his beer bottle. Both tighten their grip as Cara's words forcibly fight their way through his haze and their meaning sinks in.<br/>"Yeah?"<br/>if her mind is playing dirty jokes as his is, this could be a slip of truth she never meant to let out. Din should probably ignore it and let it go, but a selfish part of him demands to know and won't give up, no matter how hard Din tries to keep his mouth shut.<br/>Cara crosses her ankles, her bare legs pale in the orangey moonlight, then lowers her bottle. It touches the floor with a dull thud that sounds deafening in the silence around them.<br/>"I don't know,” she says without a single trace of regret, “it feels like it'd make sense. It'd probably be a bad idea, but..." She shrugs and takes another long sip, leaving the <em>but</em> unspoken, much to Din's chagrin.<br/>"You think?"</p><p>[ It's been a long day, they just want to drink and relax. Things get a little <em>too</em> relaxed... ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cara Dune &amp; Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>With Every Broken Bone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guys, I'm a wreck. I haven't written anything in a whole week and it felt like it was months. Sigh.</p><p>As I told <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamel/pseuds/chamel">chamel</a>, I started this one before she posted her own drunken fic, so forgive me if it's nothing new, but  I just couldn't let it go.</p><p>Title from "I Lived" by Imagine Dragons.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes them two hours, this time, to complete the mutual wound check routine that normally takes a few minutes, and the process requires most of their medical supplies.</p><p>The ongoing challenge between Din and Cara doesn't seem as fun as usual, today. On an average hunt day, Din would assume the two huge blaster shot bruises in his side and his minor concussion could grant him an easy victory, but this time Cara crushed him with a nasty cut on her face that misses her eye by a scarce inch, a split lip, and a broken forearm.</p><p>They pop the first bottle of liquor when the child falls asleep in his pram after watching Din and Cara strip and clean and patch each other up like it's the most entertaining thing he's ever witnessed.</p><p>They're sitting on the cockpit floor under an orange night sky dotted with pale nebulae, side by side with their backs against the wall and probably too many empty bottles scattered at their feet.</p><p>Even though their capture was successful, they went too close to losing their target and the looming sense of a half defeat still lingers. They're not used to getting out of a fight this battered.</p><p>"How's your arm?" Din asks at some point. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, it rolls the words out slow and slurred, half numb. They've been drinking in silence for so long it's going to take him a while to reboot his normal speech skills, and the alcohol isn't really helping.</p><p>"Better."</p><p>Cara shifts to adjust her position, cracking her neck from side to side. It's bearing the weight of the makeshift sling Din fastened around her right arm after immobilising the fracture under her instructions with an improvised splint.</p><p>The shadow from the cockpit roof veils her face in darkness, as well as his own, but Din can picture the face she must be making as she groans, "Still broken, though. How's your side?"</p><p>Her fingers ghost over his sore flesh, causing him an involuntary whimper he would have been able to refrain, hadn't he been so drunk already.</p><p>"Eh.” He tries to move his tongue to awaken it from its torpor, licks his dry lips. “It was fun though," he admits with a faint laugh that reverberates sharply through his bruised flank.</p><p>The print of Cara's fingertips still lingers over his sore ribs, even after her hand is gone. It's still a mystery to him how they got so used to touching and being touched by each other; it's been months, and sometimes he thinks Cara knows his body as well as he does, by now. Except for his face.</p><p>"Does life have a meaning if you don't look death straight in the eye at least once a week?" Cara wonders before raising her beer to her mouth with a chuckle.</p><p>Din's head rolls in her direction. With his helmet lying on his lap, almost forgotten, the scent of her wet hair wafts straight through his nostrils, bringing a sense of giddiness the alcohol couldn't provide. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes for a second to savour the strange way his head has started swimming all of a sudden. He realises he can feel the heat given off by Cara's skin right below his chin, where he guesses her shouder is.</p><p>"If you're trying to get me to admit you saved us all, just say it," he says, turning to face ahead again before dangerous ideas starts creeping into him.</p><p>"Nah,” she laughs, “that's good enough."</p><p>Every inch in Din's body is aching and exhausted, but the simple sound of Cara's laughter injects a bout of energy through his veins.</p><p>A thought flickers in his mind, too fleeting for him to catch; he tries to chase it through the blissful clouds filling his head and only grasps a glimpse of it – his lips touching Cara's shoulder, the sharp, wet sound it would make. It vanishes the very moment he tries to process it, like a fish shying away in the water. All Din is left with is a sense of longing he doesn't know what to do with.</p><p>It brings back a memory from their day, though, and it makes him grin, a few hours too late. He was in no condition to grin, when it actually happened.</p><p>"It was really hot."</p><p>He's talking to himself, forgetting that Cara is right there next to him, so he's a little taken a back when her voice asks, "What?"</p><p>Din sighs, almost in pain. He thought they were all going to die, until she saved the day.</p><p>"You dragging me all the way behind that rock,” he says, the memory a bit blurry as he tries to recollect it, “holding the kid with a broken arm.”</p><p>He stops to soak into the proud giggle she lets out at that. She gets sheepish when someone compliments her appearance – which happens more often than she likes to admit – but she won't put on any false modesty when it's her strength being complimented.</p><p>"You're really something else, Dune," says Din, forgetting again Cara can hear him.</p><p>Somewhere in his conscience he cringes, because he vaguely realises there was way too much adoration in his tone, but hopefully she's drunk enough to miss it or read it as something less compromising.</p><p>Din in quite confused by his own awkward honesty, at the moment: the thoughts in his brain turn into words too quickly for him to stop them before they become sounds.</p><p>Cara is quiet for a long while, leaving Din wondering if she's mulling over his odd behaviour or if she simply didn't register it at all. The first option is dreadful, but the second hurts a little, even though he can't blame her, given her current state.</p><p>It's been minutes when he hears her take a breath she exhales into a wistful sigh, before saying something so shocking it ties a knot into Din's throat.</p><p>"I kinda wanna kiss you.”</p><p>Din has a hand curled around his helmet and one clutching his beer bottle. Both tighten their grip as Cara's words forcibly fight their way through his haze and their meaning sinks in.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>If her mind is playing dirty jokes as his is, this could be a slip of truth she never meant to let out. Din should probably ignore it and let it go, but a selfish part of him demands to know and won't give up, no matter how hard he tries to keep his mouth shut.</p><p>Cara crosses her ankles, her bare legs pale in the orangey moonlight, then lowers her bottle. It touches the floor with a dull thud that sounds deafening in the silence around them.</p><p>"I don't know,” she says without a single trace of regret, “it feels like it'd make sense. It'd probably be a bad idea, but..." She shrugs and takes another long sip, leaving the <em>but</em> unspoken, much to Din's chagrin.</p><p>"You think?"</p><p>"We're tired, both physically and mentally. That would...” Cara pauses. Din can hear the sloppy sound of her tongue wetting her lips. “It'd lead to poor decision making, regrettable moves, stuff like that. You know?"</p><p>"Probably,” he sighs. He chugs down half of the remaining beer in his bottle, half annoyed with himself for how easily he's letting this slip away. It's unlikely he'll ever get another chance to address this thing as safely and freely as now, where the drunkenness can provide a very valid excuse to pretend this conversation never happened, should it not go as they hope.</p><p>He glances surreptitiously at the dark outline of Cara's profile, wondering what it is that she hopes, and for once he gets a taste of what people must feel around him, talking to a faceless mask protecting any hint of emotion surfacing to his features.</p><p>"I mean, I still want to kiss you,” continues Cara, breaking Din out of his musings, “Out of curiosity. I've always wondered if you're secretly a good kisser under that thing."</p><p>Her bottle clinks against the side of the helmet on his lap. The movement brings a wave of warmth upon Din's side. Cara's wrist skims his bare abs and it burns like a flame. A flame that threatens to spread a fire he isn't quite ready to deal with.</p><p>"You look like you're a great kisser," he blurts, then shuts his eyes with an inner curse.</p><p>Cara, however, breaks into a little giggle that doesn't seem remotely bothered.</p><p>"Based on what?"</p><p>"Your lips," he confesses. At this point he might as well be <em>willingly</em> honest. "You have very pretty lips. Full and soft."</p><p>This is too much honesty, he tells himself in horror, but the words just flowed out and it's too late to take it back.</p><p>Cara struggles a little to pick up a new bottle with her right arm out of order; she realises the one she reached is empty so she drops it with a groan to pick another one.</p><p>"Sounds like you've put some serious consideration in it," she remarks as she pops it open.</p><p>"It's kinda hard not to think about it with that mouth of yours always running," says Din defensively. There is a chance he just implied he thinks about kissing her all the time, which is an exaggeration. Most of the time, perhaps, or ever just fairly often, but certainly not <em>all</em> the time. He's pretty sure there <em>are</em> moments when he's not thinking about kissing her: it's the alcohol in his system preventing him from coming up with any instance to prove his point.</p><p>This is when he realises he wasn't aware of this until just three seconds ago: he <em>does</em> think about kissing Cara. Like walking, like breathing... has it become so habitual he isn't even aware of that?</p><p>"So," she begins playfully, "you think about kissing me to shut me up?"</p><p>"Among other options, yes," he laughs despite himself. He could listen to er ramble on and or forever, just to see the way her face flushes when she's angry, when her eyes brighten up when she talks about something she's passionate about, but the silence imposed by a kiss... that would be a whole different pleasure to his ears.</p><p>"Oh?” she turns to him in the dark, an intrigued edge to her tone. “Do tell."</p><p>"Headbutting you?" he offers, prompting another giggle from her.</p><p>"Isn't that, like, a very passionate kiss to your folks?"</p><p>"Sometimes. Sometimes it's just a headbutt."</p><p>"How do you tell the difference?"</p><p>"There's hardly any," he reveals. "Unless you're fighting an enemy. If you're not up against an enemy, to us fighting is just... very physical flirting."</p><p>"So you're saying-" Cara gulps a sip of her beer. She doesn't sound as slurred as he does but there is definitely a slow thickness to her voice. "You're saying we've been aggressively flirting since we met?"</p><p>Din can't help a nostalgic smile.</p><p>"I guess."</p><p>"You could have told me. I would've fought more seductively."</p><p>"More than <em>that?"</em></p><p>Cara snorts out a delightfully ungraceful laugh.</p><p>"Shut up!"</p><p>And Din does shut up, but just because he's breathless. Because the sound of her laughing steals his power of speech and replaces it with more breath-taking <em>longing.</em></p><p>Six months ago, he was all business and solitude; now he has a foundling and a partner: there are toys scattered around the ship – toys he and Cara trip into, <em>a lot</em> – and another set of armour lying beside his at the end of the day, and the air of domesticity that has been settling upon everything around him during these past few months has been giving him major doubts about what he's been doing with his life.</p><p>"I'm glad you're here," he mutters, and this time it's meant to be heard, and if he were braver he would even say it louder.</p><p>Cara is still beside him. Din could swear he can feel a smile stretch out her lips as she mutters back, "Yeah?"</p><p>Being unable to see her, he can only picture her, eyes low and pensive, maybe a light blush upon her cheeks – courtesy of the alcohol, or maybe something else. Din feels awfully selfish for being so disappointed her face is shrouded by the shadows: she's never seen his face and never complained about it once, never even asked what he looks like, and he's so fond of her beautiful face sometimes he thinks he couldn't go a single day without looking into those achingly dark eyes and the tantalising mischief shining in them.</p><p>"I don't know what I'm doing,” he confesses. “It's always been just me. I've never cared for a foundling before."</p><p>"You're doing fine, buddy,” she reassures him. “The kid is healthy, happy."</p><p>"That's also thanks to you."</p><p>"I hardly do anything," she huffs. "My baby skills are... ugh."</p><p>Din shakes his head in amusement and brings his bottle to his lips. Cara's stubborn denial is almost cute.</p><p>The truth is that they're both a mess most of the time when it comes to baby duty, but they've learned so much, little by little, and usually what one can't do, the other can, so Din is charge of baths and meals, and Cara of playtime and naps. Before she came along, Din used to just sit the kid before a pile of toys and expect him to entertain himself; it was Cara who showed him how to play with him and stimulate his interest. For a woman who publicly claims to be averse to anything baby-related, in fact, Cara Dune is a surprisingly good mother figure.</p><p>"He adores you," he argues. "He loves to fall asleep on you."</p><p>"Yeah," she snickers as she takes a sip, "I sure got the right stuff to make a pretty awesome pillow."</p><p><em>That</em> is something Din would rather not think about, especially because Cara's cleavage is quite unmercifully well lit by the moonlight and while Din's face <em>is </em>concealed by the dark<em>,</em> the rest of him isn't. At least, he thinks in relief, his helmet provides a little coverage.</p><p>"You're the one who sings to him," he insists, because he believes he deserves to hear how good she is. "I didn't know any lullabies before you taught me yours."</p><p>He's developed a taste for the melancholic melodies of Alderaanian lullabies and their evocative lyrics, and he's always mesmerised by how emotional Cara gets when she hums them to the child while trying to get him to sleep. Cara's vulnerable side rarely comes out, and Din is honoured he's the one person, along with the kid, allowed to see it.</p><p>"Don't get broody on me, now," she snorts. "This started off so well, kissing and flirting and all that shit. Let's stick to stupid subjects, please."</p><p>"Kissing me is stupid, now?" he retorts. He doesn't know if he managed to sound as casual as he intended. His mind is still filled with echoes of Cara's lullabies and the kid's soft, happy coos when she rocks him in her arms.</p><p>"It's stupid to want to kiss someone just because they sound hot."</p><p>"I could also <em>look</em> hot," he objects. He's not trying to <em>convince</em> her it's a good idea to kiss him, but...</p><p>Cara breathes out a laugh through her teeth.</p><p>"How is that relevant? I want to kiss your voice."</p><p>"You can't kiss my voice."</p><p>"I'm drunk, I can do whatever I want."</p><p>Din can't even remember how they got here from battle bruises and broken bones. He guesses this sort of things go side by side for people who are partners in and out of the battlefield. Which he and Cara are <em>not,</em> anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Yet?</em>
</p><p>He shoves the idea out of his line of thoughts, but it keeps coming back, too strong for him to ignore.</p><p>"You really don't care what I look like?"</p><p>It comes out as brittle whisper, shy and uncertain. It makes Din feel like a little boy asking his first crush if she likes him – which, incidentally, it's not that far from the factual truth.</p><p>Cara wiggles a bit down the wall, making herself more comfortable.</p><p>"I'm well past the age when you fall in love with people for their looks," she says quite matter-of-factly. "I've heard all Mandalorians are ugly, anyway, so fuck that."</p><p>It makes Din laugh and he gives in to it despite the throbbing pain it ignites in his side. He doesn't care about that. He's still getting used to <em>laughing: </em>both his body and soul still marvel at the sensation it spreads within him, at the timid, bubbling happiness that causes it.</p><p>"I'm touched," he jokes, but not entirely. Slowly, his inebriated brain starts processing what Cara said. He tells himself he shouldn't make a big deal out of it, that it wasn't meant to be taken literally; something inside him, though, won't let go of those three little words: <em>fall in love.</em></p><p>"You care about looks?" she inquires defiantly before he has a chance to staring asking himself the right questions.</p><p>He lets his mouth curl into a smirk remembering his own shock when he first caught himself thinking how beautiful Cara looks, about three seconds after seeing her for the first time.</p><p><em>Beautiful and fierce,</em> those had been the first epithets coming to his mind when he spotted her sitting in the cantina on Sorgan, and it was a thought that had surprised him, because <em>beautiful</em> isn't a significant quality in Mandalorian culture.</p><p>"I would've said no, once, but..." he says, casting her a quick glance. The pale golden glow pouring in from the night sky highlights her profile, allowing Din to make out the perfect slope of her nose, the softness of her lips.</p><p>"But?" she urges curiously, turning in his direction. They're closer than Din thought, so close he can feel the warmth of her breath upon his chest.</p><p>"Have you ever looked in a mirror?" he replies, and enjoys the little moment of silence that follows.</p><p>"Oh?" Cara coyly nudges him with her shoulder.</p><p>"That's not supposed to be relevant,” Din continues, almost apologetically, “but it's hard not look when it's staring you right in the face all the time."</p><p>"What's staring you right in the face?"</p><p>Din rolls his eyes. He hates that he's too drunk to tell if she's playing or if she's genuinely oblivious.</p><p>"All of you?"</p><p>Cara tilts her head back to laugh.</p><p>"You trying to make me blush, man?"</p><p>Din shakes his head, downs all that's left in his bottle and sets it down with a grimace.</p><p>"Plain fact. You just happen to be a living stereotype of Mandalorian attractiveness. Plus the beauty," he adds grudgingly. "Not my fault you're beautiful, though. I mean, it's <em>right there...</em> one can't <em>not</em> look."</p><p>He's just talking to himself and his guilt, at this point, but Cara nods vehemently, like this makes perfect sense to her.</p><p>"So," she starts after a while, "you guys never <em>ever</em> see each other's faces?"</p><p>"Only our spouses and children are allowed to see us. Or only our children, if we don't get married."</p><p>"Have you ever wanted to?"</p><p>"Get married?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>The mere fact that Din needs to think about it is per se an answer, he reckons.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Ever been in love?"</p><p>Cara takes her bottle to her lips, but it's empty, so she sets it aside with a grunt. Din hands her the last one.</p><p>"Once," he says carefully, "maybe. I'm not sure."</p><p>"You're <em>not sure?"</em> she giggles.</p><p>Din lets his head fall back against the wall. This is a worm can, he knows it is. They're venturing into dangerous territories very risky to explore with a clear mind, let alone in this state they're in. There must be a part of them that desperately wants their deepest secrets to come out, otherwise he can't explain why they can't stop teasing each other like this. Jokes can only take them so far, after all.</p><p>"It might be... it might be admiration," he says with a swimming head, "or very deep friendship. I don't know. How do you tell the difference?"</p><p>The fact that he honestly doesn't <em>know</em> is quite pathetic. He's been keeping himself detached from any form of love for so long that now he's sitting next to this extraordinary woman and can't even tell how he feels about her.</p><p>Cara is thinking at his side, her thumbnails scraping along the bottle neck over and over.</p><p>"Well, love is... it's like..." She trails off with a small, frustrated laugh that tells Din that she knows what she wants to say but doesn't know how to say it, which he finds very relatable.</p><p>"I guess it feels like you have something too big for your heart to hold," she tries to explain, fumbling for the right words. "It's good but it kinda hurts, too." She looks at him through the darkness. "Ever felt like that?"</p><p>The description is so accurate Din can barely breathe. The realisation, mixed with the effects of the alcohol, leaves him floating in a stupor that's turning his brain into a buzzing mess.</p><p>"I... think so," he whispers almost unconsciously.</p><p>"How did it go?" asks Cara.</p><p>It didn't <em>go</em> anywhere.</p><p>It never even started.</p><p>It's here, lingering between them, only addressed as a joke, as a fun drunken pastime they'll probably forget about tomorrow, waiting for the next chance to bring it up, laugh about it, and then forget again.</p><p>"You still there, man?"</p><p>Din nearly flinches.</p><p>"Yeah," he says as he hangs his head, suddenly feeling tired.</p><p>Cara's hand tentatively touches his leg.</p><p>"Wrong question?"</p><p>Din releases a laugh that is half a sigh.</p><p>"No, it's just... I can't answer it."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"Not... yet."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>She sounds like she <em>does</em> see. If only...</p><p>"Did you mean it?"</p><p>"Mean what?"</p><p>Din's heart is thumping. His reason is begging him to shut up and leave everything as it his, but the longing in his chest has burned down whatever cautiousness the booze had spared and he's starting to feel desperate enough to take a chance.</p><p>"You said you're too old to fall in love with people for how they look."</p><p>"That is <em>not</em> what I said," Cara chuckles.</p><p>"But did you mean it?"</p><p>There is a pause of silence. Cara exhales a long breath, then shifts slightly. Her thigh touches Din's, her elbow bumps against his. The heat she gives off is all over him.</p><p>She says, "Are you asking me how that one time you were maybe in love went?"</p><p>So, she caught that. He can't say he's surprised.</p><p>"... yes."</p><p>"Mmh."</p><p>Cara settles a little closer. She slips her good arm around Din's and lets her head rest against his shoulder, skin on skin.</p><p>"You and her got stupidly drunk," he says with a tender voice that does funny things to his heart, "overshared, accidentally admitted things... It was awkward and kinda pathetic, but, hey, it did the job."</p><p>"It did?"</p><p>"These months we've spent together... they changed everything. I don't mind getting hurt, but having someone who's bleeding beside you and helps you mend your wounds... it kinda gives the pain a meaning, you know? It makes it-"</p><p>"-worth its while."</p><p>Cara's cheek rubs against his shoulder as she nods.</p><p>"Yeah. You, me, the kid... it feels like... you know, family."</p><p>"You've been thinking about it."</p><p>"You haven't?"</p><p>Din can perfectly picture her eyebrows arching sceptically. And she's right, he couldn't possibly lie about this.</p><p>"I've thought about it so much sometimes I forget we're not actually... ah."</p><p><em>Together</em> is the term is was going for, but it doesn't feel right.</p><p>"I didn't see it coming," he sighs. It's a quite pleased sigh, though.</p><p>"What?" she smirks. "Me sneaking up on you on Sorgan?"</p><p>"That, too. Though I guess-" he lets out a little slurred laugh and shakes his head, amused by the warmth he feels spreading in his chest at the mere recollection of that moment. "-I guess that was just the beginning. Not many people in the galaxy could kick a Mandalorian's ass and I was... I was really impressed."</p><p>Cara's shoulders shake with laughter. She winces at the pain this must be causing to her broken arm, but still has the nerve to rise her bottle in some sort of toast.</p><p>"I'm that great. You're welcome."</p><p>"That would've been enough," Din smiles fondly. "If you'd been wearing a helmet of your own, I'd have been in awe of you all the same. But you <em>had</em> to look like that, too. And that smile you wear when you're fighting..."</p><p>Cara hums low in her throat.</p><p>"You're getting corny, man."</p><p>"Blame it on your pretty face," he protests. "Pretty... everything," he rephrases on a second thought.</p><p>Cara laughs quietly.</p><p>"How dare you sound <em>outraged?"</em></p><p>"I feel... I feel like I'm disrespecting you."</p><p>"Because you like the way I look?"</p><p>"You're more than that."</p><p>"Well," she says, suddenly serious, "I can't help how I look, and neither can you, so feel free to look all you want. I know you can see through my distracting appearance."</p><p>He loves this about her: her sense of humour, her ability to sneak away so elegantly from every serious topic with her wit and her snarky remarks. Sometimes he feels like he was blind all his life: until he met Cara, he didn't know what light was.</p><p>"Just like you can see through this," he muses, staring down at the helmet between his hands.</p><p>"Don't get all touchy-feely on me, now," she warns, but Din can't <em>not</em> go there: this has been a burden to him all this time, he <em>needs</em> to talk about it.</p><p>"What do you see," he asks, eyes still transfixed on his helmet and the orange glow reflected upon its surface, "when you look at this beskar wall?"</p><p>"I don't know," Cara shrugs, "what do you see in the wrapping of a present?"</p><p>"Uh?"</p><p>"Only dumb people give a kriff about the wrapping of a present. Everyone knows the good stuff is inside. You just need to <em>look."</em></p><p>"But you <em>can't</em> look," he stresses, because this is the whole damn point.</p><p>"Doesn't mean I can't <em>see,"</em> she scoffs, full of indignation. "You know I'm more than my beautiful wrapping. I know you're more than your beskar wrapping. We're- we're a flashy box to the world, but a bare present to each other because we don't..." He can see a frown forming on her face in this hesitation. "We don't hide from each other, I guess. Does it make sense?"</p><p>It makes so much sense Din feels stupid for doubting her in the first place.</p><p>"It does," he promises. "Your brain develops beautiful thoughts under the influence."</p><p>"No filters, all banthashit," she grumbles, kicking down a couple of empty bottle with a foot. "Thanks, alcohol."</p><p>His right hand leaves his helmet and slips down to his leg resting next to hers, close enough for his fingers to brush over hers as he stretches them out. Cara doesn't flinch when he touches her; she stills but her fingers spread pliantly when Din tentatively reaches forward yet, allowing their fingers to intertwine like it's completely accidental.</p><p>He watches their joint hands for a long while as if looking for a catch, for a reason to run away from this and avoid facing what the future might bring. He finds a lot, but none of them seems worth the unreasonable effort of letting go of Cara's hand.</p><p>"I hope you never leave me."</p><p>They parted ways one, twice. It never lasted. One way or another, they always find their way back to each other.</p><p>Cara's thumb strokes the back of Din's hand. She yawns, causing a warm flutter within Din's chest. He would love to gather her in his arms and just hold her as she falls asleep, but her broken arm makes it impossible.</p><p>"I don't think I could," she whispers. "I mean," she continues with another yawn, "you can't look after the Green Menace all by yourself. Kid's too smart for you."</p><p>Din can only laugh in agreement.</p><p>"He is."</p><p>"And you're such a fool for those huge puppy eyes."</p><p>"Also true."</p><p>Cara's head feels heavy upon his shoulder. Din knows he can't let her fall asleep here: she needs rest and a proper bed.</p><p>He forces himself to stand up and gently urges her to do the same. She almost trips in her own feet as she lets him pull her up and falls into his arms. A flare of pain pierces Din's side; he barely notices.</p><p>Just hours ago they were out there, shooting their way out of a bad situation that could have ended very badly, hadn't Cara been the magnificent specimen of human she is, and now they're just going to sleep as if nothing happened, a little battered, a little bruised, but content all the same. Actually, even more content than usual, given the current twist things have taken.</p><p>"I still wanna kiss you," murmurs Cara, snuggling her face into his neck as he leads her out of the cockpit.</p><p>Din looks down on her and the warmth in his heart surfaces into a smile. His lips brush against her forehead as he quips, "Probably not the best idea right now. My breath must smell awful."</p><p>"Not just yours," she grumbles.</p><p>She's warm and soft and too <em>real</em> to be a dream. He can tell the difference because he's had dreams like this, an none of them ended so... uneventfully.</p><p>"Tomorrow?" he proposes. "I'd like us to be sober when that happens."</p><p>Even half asleep, Cara somehow still manages to be a teasing little shit.</p><p>
  <em>"When?"</em>
</p><p><em>"If?"</em> Din tries again.</p><p>Cara giggles. It might be the alcohol, it might be this bubbling sense of elation Din is feeling, too, like electricity lighting him up from the inside.</p><p><em>"When,"</em> she reassures him as her hand gives his good side an eloquent squeeze. <em>"When</em> sounds good."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Work has been hell again, I'm tired all the time and hardly have any time to sit down and write at all. I'm not sure when I can post something again, so I hope this is good enough to make up for my recent and future absence. A sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134871">Sugar Crush</a> is in the works, too, so hopefully at some point i'll be able to finish it.</p><p>This is going to be a very long and exhausting month for me. Send some love, guys. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>